


One-Hundred and Twenty-Four

by Nahara



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, arthur sucks at spontaneity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nahara/pseuds/Nahara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur fails at spontaneity and Merlin hasn’t had his morning coffee yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One-Hundred and Twenty-Four

They had been going out one-hundred and twenty-four days exactly. Not that Merlin was counting.

Well, okay, he _was_ counting, but it was a totally casual thing. He liked numbers and he liked Arthur and it wasn’t a big deal. So that’s how Merlin knew that they’d been together for just over four months when Arthur turned to him one rainy Sunday and said,

“Marry me.”

“What?”

Merlin was sure he’d heard wrong. He was pretty dopy first thing in the morning and they’d not had morning sex yet or even coffee. Merlin was about 99.9% positive that if he were to show up at a blood drive and offer over his arm, the only thing to come out of him would be black espresso. So no coffee meant no comprende. Maybe Arthur had said _bury me_ , or _hairy! me?_ or, you know, something other than what Merlin’s morning-brain was capable of supplying.

Arthur chuckled. The sound was soft and a little hesitant. This more than anything else alerted Merlin to the fact that maybe he had, in actual fact, understood correctly.

He stopped stretching instantly and rolled over to face Arthur, eyebrows near falling off his forehead in surprise.

“You heard,” Arthur said gruffly, face actually blushing. Holy shit.

“No seriously,” Merlin promised. “Say that again. Please.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed very deeply, like Merlin was being an infant and humouring him was humouring a four year old. But he wasn’t meeting his eyes, he was looking at literally every damn thing in the room _but_ Merlin.

“I asked you,” Arthur enunciated almost sarcastically, “if you would marry me.”

Before Merlin could consider how it might sound, he said, no censorship whatever,

“Why?” This is the sort of thing coffee prevented and why he loved it so very much. He felt his face contort in horror. Arthur looked a little annoyed and shook his head in exasperation.

“Why do you think, idiot?”

“We’ve been dating for one-hundred and twenty-four days,” Merlin blurted. When it came to saying stupid, embarrassing shit, he never did things by halves. He wanted to bury his face in a pillow and stay there for, oh, _ever_.

Arthur looked nonplussed. “One-hundred and twenty-four?”

“Um, yeah.”

“You’ve… kept count, then?”

“Maybe?”

Arthur’s smile was blinding, confident without being cocky, delighted and so clearly full of love that Merlin felt his stomach erupt as a thousand tiny butterflies fluttered wildly inside of him.

“I just meant,” Merlin said, the words rushing out of him like a dam was busting. “I just meant that I think you’re amazing and I love you, obviously, but I’m not quite sure why you would want to marry me after only four months of dating. Aren’t you, like, Mr Filofax? Mr Planning-Ahead-Is-Common-Sense-Stop-Mocking-My-Colour-Co-Ordinated-Tabbing-System?”

Arthur actually gave him a sheepish grin, fingers tickling down the side of Merlin’s bare chest.

“Oh my god!” Merlin shouted, loud enough for Arthur’s neighbour to hear on the other side of wall, no doubt. Not that he cared much. Mr Cooper-Dyson got an ear-full every time he stayed the night at Arthur’s flat. Merlin was just a very vocal person, okay? And secretly Merlin thought Mr Cooper-Dyson could use a little excitement, the perve.

“You… are you telling me that you planned to propose to me today? How far in advance did you schedule this, Arthur?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur denied. “I am being totally spontaneous, as you’re always telling me to be.”

“Totally spontaneous,” Merlin parroted dully, disbelief evident. “Bullshit.”

“Why is it so hard to believe –?”

Merlin flung himself off the bed and stumble-ran towards Arthur’s antique desk. He knew what he was after; Arthur always kept it either in his briefcase or on top of the desk. He really was utterly predictable.

“Merlin? What… what are you doing?” Arthur sounded genuinely worried. Merlin could hear him pushing aside the bed sheets and standing up. “Stop fucking around with my stuff!” Definitely nervous.

“Ah ha!” Merlin cried, waving the thick black Filofax in the air.

“Give that back! Merlin, I’m not kidding.” Arthur lunged – actually _lunged_ – for Merlin. But Merlin was nimble, dancing back and away from Arthur’s arms.

“Why don’t you want me to have a look?” Merlin teased, running back to the bed. “Usually you’d be thrilled I was taking an interest in your plans.”

“For God’s sake.” Arthur followed him to the bed and again tried to make a grab. Merlin leapt onto the bed and bounced out of reach.

“How long have you loved me, Arthur? Are our initials in a little cartoon heart?”

Arthur made a noise of frustration, stamping his foot like a toddler. This time when he reached for Merlin he was lighting quick and furious, face red and fierce. He flung Merlin to the mattress and crawled on top of him, using his bulkier physique to hold Merlin there. Merlin felt his heart skip a beat, looking up into that beautiful, powerful face.

“How long, Arthur?” he asked again, breathy, Filofax forgotten.

“A long time,” Arthur groused. He was looking at Merlin with such intensity that Merlin shivered beneath him.

“Arthur –“

“The day after I met you, okay?” He was blushing a deep fuchsia, lips a thin white line. “We met at that charitable concerto and you were waffling on about how much you loved the pianist, how beautiful his hands were and I thought you bloody hadn’t seen _your_ hands, the way they were so expressive when you talked. And, well, you remember me asking you out and that you said yes. According to Morgana I was insufferable the next day, at turns insufferably smug and pathetically unsure of myself.” Arthur scowled at the memory.

Merlin dared not breathe for fear of breaking this spell. Arthur was never so candid.

“When I met you at the restaurant you were wearing an actual bowtie and you were smiling at me like you were so… happy, not just out of politeness but you genuinely wanted to be there. With me. God, Merlin, your smile when I said hello.”

“You had me at hello?” Merlin couldn’t resist.

Arthur chuckled. “This isn’t bloody _Jerry McGuire_ , idiot. Just… let me finish. Yeah, so I saw you smile and I was pretty damn hooked. We talked for hours at the Turkish place, so long that I think the staff started giving us the evil eyes, probably wanted to sweep us out with day’s rubbish. And when I walked you to the station you reached out and took my hand like it was the easiest thing in the world, like you didn’t give a shit if someone saw or said something ignorant or hurtful. I’d never been on a date with anyone as wonderful as you. And when I kissed you…”

“Pretty sure I kissed you first,” Merlin interjected with a sly smile.

“My story, my say,” Arthur said in a deep, warning voice. His face was very close and Merlin could see the handsome sweep of his fair lashes and the almost invisible freckles across his nose. Arthur smelled of salt and sunshine. “When I kissed you, it was… well, you were there, you remember. You said something afterwards like _wow_ and then _let’s always do that forever_.”

“I don’t remember that,” Merlin murmured, nose touching Arthur’s tenderly, an Eskimo kiss. “I just remember being totally smitten. You’re quite the catch, Arthur Pendragon.”

“Right, well,” Arthur said shyly, eyes closing and savouring the gentle kisses Merlin had begun raining down on his face. “When you said you wanted to kiss me like that forever, it stuck with me. I went home and, yes, I had a look at my Filofax and came to the realisation that none of my relationships had been terribly successful long-term. I figured if I could woo you, if I could actually get you to stay with me for four months, then I would propose. I was that bloody crazy about you. I opened up the diary and chose May 7th as the day I would ask you to be mine.”

“For real?”

Arthur looked away, an expression of tenderness and love and vulnerably – unlike anything Merlin had ever seen before – crossing his face.

“Yes, for real.” Arthur moved off Merlin a little, though still straddling his hips. He reached for the Filofax and turned to a specific page. In the little box marked May 7 was written one word: Forever. “I was actually supposed to propose tonight. I was going to take us to the Turkish place again, give you the ring – before you ask, yes I did buy you a ring. Anyway. I couldn’t wait. When you woke up and blinked at me, all sleepy-like, and smiled at me like you did on our first date… I couldn’t wait. It just popped out of my mouth like I’d be holding it for the full four months.”

“One-hundred and twenty-four days,” Merlin whispered, still staring in disbelief at the Filofax.

“Can’t believe you counted the days.” Arthur sounded amused, pleased.

“Yep. You have your Filofax, I had my jar of pennies.”

“Wait. Are you talking about that jam jar by the door of your flat?”

Merlin blushed. If Arthur could open up so completely, Merlin could too. In for a penny… no pun intended.

“You’re not the only one who had dreams about the future. When I got home after our first date I couldn’t believe you were real, you were just so charming and lovely and perfect. God, and you _liked me_. So I figured every day we spent together was a little miracle. I got a jam jar out of the recycling box which was by my front door ready to go out the next morning; I set the jar on the hall table and put in the first penny. Every single day after that I added a new one. I can’t tell you how surprised I was when the pennies started mounting up. You weren’t going anywhere.”

Arthur was watching him really hard, like he was listening carefully to each word because suddenly English wasn’t his native tongue. Without warning Arthur swooped down and sealed his mouth over Merlin’s.

The kiss lasted a long time, like they were doing it for the first time. Merlin felt as though he was floating in sunlight. The tenderness and heat of Arthur’s mouth was almost unbearable; gentle lips and curious, sensuous tongue, mapping Merlin out, discovering him, loving him.

“You haven’t answered my question yet,” Arthur murmured against Merlin’s lips, arms wrapped around him like he was something terribly precious.

“Yes, you utter prat, yes of course I’ll marry you.”

“Good,” Arthur said, beaming. “I might have already pencilled in a Christmas wedding in my Filofax."  



End file.
